


Mutually Beneficial

by hannahrhen



Series: The Marriage of True Minds [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Always With the Swearing, Arranged Marriage, Barstool Frottage, Drive-By Clinting, Inseam Fondling, M/M, Swearing, Therapeutic Cake, Yes I Resurrected Phil Dammit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-19 13:59:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahrhen/pseuds/hannahrhen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony was A-OK with being labeled "Midgard’s finest” ... until it meant being offered up in marriage to a wackjob God of Mischief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by aonorunic's Tumblr post demanding [more Frostiron arranged marriage fic](http://aonorunic.tumblr.com/post/36437954039/frostiron-rant). Since I've mpregged all over the place, maybe it's time to move onto a new trope, I thought. So, here we are. 
> 
> Assume at this point that [In Vino Veritas ... or Whatever](http://archiveofourown.org/works/549465) is a tacit prequel to my Frostirons. It may become a more formal prequel as the series progresses. (Later note: Oops, no. Chapter 5 kind of boned that!)

Tony had a bad feeling about this.

He and Steve had been summoned to Fury’s office outside of any real crisis, “for a chat.” “Chat” almost always meant “reaming,” so the director’s calm tone and almost … awkwardness as he talked to them across his desk _really_ didn’t bode well.

Tony and Steve looked at each other quickly and with increasing frequency as Fury carefully spelled out the background: A dialogue between Nick and Odin in which the one-eyed bastard Thor called father (as opposed to their own _dear_ one-eyed bastard) strengthened their alliance by wedding one of Asgard’s “finest” to one of Midgard’s.

Were it not for the reactor, Tony’s heart would have stuttered when Fury’s narrative began to suggest that he himself would get the honor of selecting the _finest_ of Midgard.

This was _not_ going to go well.

“And so Odin proposed an alliance between his son and one of my … well … “

“No, wait—no.” Tony rubbed his eyes. “I don’t like where this is going. Nick, you don’t have any kids.” He resisted looking at Cap this time, but he could feel Cap’s eyes boring into him, could see the man’s bewilderment. He was two steps behind Tony, which means his heart was just now starting to pound.

“He suggested an alternative choice might be someone of value to our culture—someone who has what we ‘Midgardians’ consider power.”

Tony let out a breath. “Then Jane Foster. She’s brilliant, has fucking theories named after her, and Thor actually likes her.” He added desperately, “She has her own show on PBS, for God’s sake! She’s the Big Bird of nerdy scientists!”

Fury shook his head. “Nope. Not gonna happen. First-born son. Apparently Thor’s gotta stick with his own—good of the kingdom and all that—”

Tony’s jaw dropped. If not Thor, then-- “Wait. … No—that fucker is supposed to be in _prison_ —” From the corner of his eye, he could see that Steve had made this one connection just as Tony did. The man was turning a weird shade of pink.

“And he has been, but this is part of his fucking redemption arc, Stark,” Fury sing-songed snidely—yeah, he didn’t agree with all this bullshit, either, but … “This is a mutually beneficial agreement, is how I see it. Someone to keep an eye on Loki, to connect him to our planet in a not-psychotically-murderous way, and a connection to Asgard to keep Thor around to fight what amounts to an insane number of bad guys we keep turning up for some goddamned reason. Yeah,” he sighed. “I know it makes no fucking sense, but you try telling that to the fucking _All-Father_. He’s convinced it will do Loki some good, and I’m willing to give anything a try to keep our planet on that guy’s good side, you got me?”

“ _You’re_ willing?!” Tony shook his head. “No—Nick, no, no, no…”

“Sir,” Steve finally cut in. “I’ll admit I’m a little lost—sorry, Tony. But, sir, do you mean that—you’re going to marry some poor girl to _Loki_ —”

Tony cut in. “No, Steve, you’re not hearing what this _fine_ man—” Here, he wagged an angry finger at Fury. “—what this _leader_ of our people is saying—”

Fury leaned back in his chair, and Tony could detect—just a bit—a satisfied smile. Evil fucking bastard.

“You’re catching on, Mr. Stark.”

“It’s gotta be the equivalent to one of Fury’s _children,_ which, in the delusional world of Asgard, and because this guy hasn’t actually spawned, means an Avenger.”

Fury leaned forward in his chair, lacing his fingers together on the surface of his desk. The glint in his eye was unmistakable.

Steve kept trying. “But, sir—that’s not really fair to Natasha, is it?”

 _Oh, Cap_ , Tony thought. _So adorably naive._ He watched Fury's head turn in his direction, eyebrows raised. 

“Would _you_ care to explain it to him, Stark?”

Tony slumped. “Natasha’s not in here, Steve. If they wanted Natasha for this, Nick here wouldn’t be talking to …” Here he waggled his hand between the two of them.

The Mexican stand-off of glances was getting old. And Steve was darkening from pink to red as he finally, painfully caught on. Tony shut his eyes. “Which one of us does he want?” he gritted out, praying for a coin toss. At least then the odds were fifty-fifty—hell, he could maybe even rig a coin toss, given a few moments alone with a quarter.

“Congratulations, Tony,” Fury said, finally offering a flat-out grin as he leaned back in his chair. “You made quite an impression on the God of Mischief. Loki asked for you _special_. And Odin wants his baby boy to get what he wants.”

Oh, Christ. He hid his face in his hands, heard his own voice muffled as he asked, “Why even have Steve here, Nick? To humiliate me?”

“In case you fainted.” Tony couldn’t see Nick Fury, hiding behind his own hands, but he could hear that the man’s smile was even bigger. “Because _I_ ain’t carrying your ass out.”

Fuck.

“Just—” Tony breathed behind his hands, unwilling to look up. “Yeah, okay. Just … just tell me I’m not the girl, Nick.”

This time, the old bastard chuckled.


	2. The Negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Tony himself felt like he had leap-frogged over anger and bargaining to some kind of fucked-up acceptance. Or maybe he was just drunk. Or maybe he just needed to be._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> In which Tony begins to understand the terms of his newly arranged marriage to the wackjob.

The next half an hour—had it been happening to someone other than Tony—would have been _hilarious._

Steve, having finally caught on, worked up a righteous froth of anger in Tony’s defense. The highlight was when he accused Fury and Odin’s agreement of being “un-American”—a word he was surprisingly willing to sling around in the direst circumstances, considering he’d confided to Tony at least twice that he wasn’t always sure what his country stood for these days. 

He also, with far less calculation and more ham-handedness, equated the deal to “modern-day slavery,” which … well. Even in a kind-of shock over his situation, Tony blanched at that one. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t win Fury over to Steve’s point of view, and, in fact, Tony then watched the other man’s resolve harden muscle by muscle across his face, neck, and shoulders. Tony would have been totally impressed if they hadn’t been discussing his own marriage to the wackjob God of Mischief.

Steve’s outrage eventually fizzled into confusion and concern for Tony, who stared off in a daze. Tony himself felt like he had leap-frogged over anger and bargaining to some kind of fucked-up acceptance. Or maybe he was just drunk. Or maybe he just needed to be.

Thor ended up on the other side of Tony’s bar two days later—enough time to allow the thunder god to return to Asgard, visit with his family, _deliver the good news_ (nope, still not drunk enough, Tony thought), and come back to work on the details.

“So.” Tony upended the single-malt into his glass, thumping the last drops out with a smack of his hand against the flat of the bottle. “You here to discuss dowry? Because I already worked out with Fury that _I’m not the girl._ Just so you know. So you’d better be ready to have Scotty transport some goddamned big chests of gold and jewels to—” Tony pointedly looked around the penthouse. “—just right there, next to the sofa. In fact, we can move the sofa to make more room—”

Thor raised a hand to try to interrupt the ramble, but what had actually stopped Tony had been the sympathetic smile on the thunder god’s face. His mouth firmly clicked shut, and Thor offered, “I had hoped to find you in reasonably good spirits about this arrangement, Tony.” He tilted his head, looking over Tony’s face. “That was a foolish hope, then.”

A bitter laugh was the first reaction. Then: “No, Thor, I love this. I love that Nick Goddamned Fury thought it was _appropriate_ to betroth me to, uh, Earth’s biggest enemy since—I don’t know, global warming and genetically modified crops. Dish detergent with phosphates. Uh, Doom? Maybe he’s a better comparison than Cascade. I—uh, yeah. What the fuck.” He took a drink. “What the fucking fuck.” He looked at the other man, belatedly realizing he hadn’t even offered a drink. He pulled out another tumbler and a still-sealed bottle of Scotch.

“Then, why did you agree?” Thor’s tone was gentle.

“Did I?” Tony wondered for a minute. Looked down at the Scotch again and sharply broke the seal on the cap. “Ice?”

Thor shook his head. Tony filled the glass halfway, set it on a napkin, and slid it across the bar. He returned his hands to cradle his own drink. “Okay. I’m not sure I literally _agreed_. What’s the—oh, yeah, ‘silence equals consent.’ I think I _consented_. Silently.” He held up his glass, and Thor clinked his own against it good-naturedly.

They drank, Tony for quite a bit longer than Thor. He was still swallowing when Thor asked, “But why, then?”

Tony lowered his glass, smiling weakly. “I dunno. A god wants to marry me? That’s kind of bucket-listy, isn’t it?” He met Thor’s eyes. “Or … someone has to keep track of your brother, and it might as well be me?” He took another sip. “Or … you only live once?” He tried to initiate another toast, but Thor genially ignored it. “ _Should_ I say no, Thor?”

Thor reached across the bar and patted Tony’s forearm. “It is not up to me, my friend.” His hand rubbed a bit, comforting, before he withdrew it.

Tony refocused on his teammate. “Well, whatever. It’s just trading one prison for another, as far as Loki is concerned. Just exchanging one set of jailers for another, right? It’s not really a _marriage_ -marriage, right?”

Thor frowned. “That’s not altogether—”

“What? It’s just—Thor, it’s just … symbolic, right?”

Tony would remember the thunder god’s face for the rest of his life—a perfect mix of disbelief, confusion, and, underneath it all, a sort-of stoic “I must amputate your leg, but I’m going to do it fast” determination. He finally spoke, and Tony would remember _that_ for the rest of his life, too: “Tony, marriages on Asgard are frequently symbolic, yes—frequently strategic. But … “

“Oh, Christ, Thor.” Tony dropped his head to the bar. He tried not to listen as Thor continued.

“A marriage ceremony isn’t completed, the union isn’t final, until it’s—”

“No. _NO, NO, NO._ This is not happening.” But it didn’t matter how hard Tony hit his head against the hard surface—he still heard Thor’s final word.

“—consummated.”

***

Word traveled fast. 

The hand came from behind to swat Tony’s shoulder as he walked down the hall in SHIELD HQ. Tony turned and glimpsed Clint as the agent backed off to slide through a doorway. His helpful parting advice: “Just stick it in him before he has a chance to stick it in you, Stark!”

“Thanks, asshole!” Tony shouted at the closing door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clint's drive-by snidery is in homage to Hella's [Off the Record](http://archiveofourown.org/works/315889) (specifically the banana scene), which I suspect everyone who has gotten to this point is reading.


	3. The Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"You guys are cleaning me up for Loki!" he accused._
> 
>  
> 
> In which Tony has a number of suspiciously timed personal appointments, and Pepper puts up with his shit.

In the next few days, Tony found he had a series of oddly timed personal appointments on his calendar. 

The first barely registered—his six-month teeth cleaning and checkup … though he had sworn he still had another couple of months to go before that was due. 

When his annual physical came up two days later, with the reminder not to eat ("or drink!" Pepper had scowled) twelve hours ahead of time, he was mildly suspicious. He'd remembered the last exam taking place in the winter, as he sat miserably in the overbright exam room, shivering in his paper gown after the nurse scurried off with his blood sample. The weather as he wandered into the medical complex was perfect, brisk, _fall_ —warm colors on the trees, maybe 62 degrees outside in the bright sunlight. 

Tony's mood, however, was cloudy: It _hadn't_ been a year.

But it wasn't until Happy had dropped him off the next day at a salon—not even his usual place! It was _fancier_ —for a haircut _and_ a manicure that he called Pepper.

"You guys are cleaning me up for Loki!" he accused.

Pepper had never been good at lying, to him or anyone else, but she gave it the old college try. "What?" He heard her swallow over the phone— _busted!_ "No! It's just a coincidence."

"How is it a coincidence when you know _exactly what I'm talking about,_ Pepper!" He carefully switched his phone to his other ear after an impatient gesture from the clipper-wielding manicurist. "You fricking had my teeth checked! Like I'm a horse for sale! Like I'm a _gift horse_!" (After a second, he filed away that comment for later Loki ammo—he had lots of fun stories about the bastard to exploit in the coming weeks, and he anticipated a good representation of horse-related humor.)

"Tony, no," Pepper insisted, regaining his attention but stoking his irritation alongside it. He could hear the noise of StarkIndustries around her as she walked through the building. "It's just that … the next few months might be a little crazy, and we want to make sure you get all these things taken care of. That's all."

Tony broke in: "Doctor Sherman whitened my teeth! He said he was doing a fluoride treatment, but my teeth are so goddamned white now that I'm gonna look like the Cheshire Cat at my next rave!" He got a sharp tug from the manicurist as he attempted to gesture with both hands.

"Tony—"

"No!" Another abortive gesture, and another annoyed tug. "Don't tell me I don't go to raves. Don't tell me I _can't_ go to raves! I can still go!" He paused, watching the woman, whose name he'd already forgotten, buff his nails as she muttered under her breath. "Do they still call them raves now? Is that still a thing? … Whatever they are, I'm going to them!"

"Tony—"

"Pepper!"

She was unnaturally calm for it being _the week before his wedding to a psychopath, goddammit_. "Tony. You are going to be very tied up—very _busy_ ," she amended as he somehow grimaced audibly, "for the next few weeks. And your wedding is going to be photographed and recorded extensively for both planets. So you need to look your best. If you show up looking like—"

"Watch it, Pepper."

"— _like_ you haven't slept in two days and have worn the same clothes for three, it's going to send the wrong signal to our new _very important allies_ , which is the _whole_ reason you agreed to do this in the first place!"

"Pepper—"

"No, Tony."

"Pepper."

"No." Ah, the implacable Pepper. Tony only loved it when it worked to his advantage, and right now he wasn't sure. She continued: "Let's get you cleaned up. Let's find you something _decent_ to wear. And let's get to to the chapel—the _proverbial_ chapel—next week to finalize this arrangement."

He watched the manicurist stand up, pointedly wipe down her table's surface, and walk away without a backward glance. He looked down—yeah, his hands looked pretty good. He should get this done more often. "Pepper, can I ask one thing?" 

She sighed. "Yes, Tony."

"Am I …. God, I'm the girl, aren't I? I'm the bride in this _arrangement_. That's why you're cleaning me up."

The answer, dry as sand: "Tony, no matter how much I _'clean you up,'_ you're not pretty enough to be the girl."

Tony thought for a minute, then couldn't resist the tease: "But you think Loki is, huh?"

Pepper chuckled. "He is … quite lovely, yes."

Tony pursed his lips. "Hm." With a broad smile and a voice dripping with insinuation, he continued, "Do you think that, once the deed is done, you, and Loki, and me—that we could—" He paused to let her fill in the blanks however she wanted. He knew Pepper—when it was just the two of them, she'd play way bluer than he ever could. It was one of his favorite Potts qualities.

She clearly had _gone there,_ and her response was immediate. "NO, Tony. I'm not taking the chance that I'm going to piss off the God of Mischief, thanks. Besides, I have kind of had my fill of you, if you don't mind."

"Come on, Pep—not even a little jealous?"

"Should I be, Tony? Would it make you feel better if I were?" Tony didn't respond, didn't really want to navigate these waters on this day. "I can safely say that, of all the nightmare scenarios I imagined when we broke up—almost all involving you somehow— _somehow_ —finding a woman better than I am—yes, I know it's ridiculous—" She stopped talking until Tony's laugh had quieted. "—This is not a scenario I even imagined. ... I guess I should take it as a compliment that you had to cross gender lines to find someone you were willing to marry." 

Tony leaned back in the reclining chair, bounced back a few times before settling. "Oh, Pep—what am I doing." 

"Strategic alliance, Tony." Her tone was fond. "If you're lucky, Odin will be placated, Loki will lose interest in you after a couple of weeks, and we can write this off as the latest celebrity marriage announced with fanfare and followed by a 'what went wrong' cover of People six months later."

"Yeah. I don't think that's gonna happen."

"Really?"

"I'm sorry, Pepper," he projected into the phone, "But I can't hear you over _the sound of how awesome I am_!" Talking over her amused "oh, Tony," he continued, "No, really—I guess it could happen, but … Fury said Hannibal the Cannibal wanted me in particular. Why? Because I offered him a drink? Or because I'm the weakest out of the suit?"

"How 'bout we go with A, the drink. It's a lot of trouble to go to just to kill one Avenger. Let's be optimistic: I know guys like Odin and his family—they like gestures. You got Loki's attention … "

"… and now I'm paying for it."

Pepper was silent for a minute—silently agreeing, he thought ruefully--and Tony started planning how to wrap up the conversation until she said, "Thanks, though."

"For what?"

"For ending up with someone who absolutely, positively does not make me jealous in the least. At all." 

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, great. Yeah. You're welcome, Miss Potts. Merry Christmas. Happy birthday. Confederate Veterans, whatever." 

She hummed. "Oh, and Mr. Stark, don't forget—"

"What," he barked.

There was no disguising the giggle. "You have a facial scheduled for 10:30 tomorrow morning."

"Goddamn it, Pepper."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, up next? Sif delivers the "birds and the bees" speech. (cackles wickedly and runs away)


	4. The Birds and the Bees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Sif continued: “And, thankfully, the rumors about the Frost Giants were not true.”_
> 
> _Tony’s head snapped up, eyes sharp on the woman. “What rumors?”_
> 
> _“Oh, all sorts of things that are too ridiculous to say. But the one I heard again and again was that their cocks are--” She took a moment to find the right word, and Tony would swear--*swear*--that it was the longest moment in his life..._  
> ...
> 
> Or, Sif introduces Tony to the Asgard equivalent of the _vagina dentata._

Tony had been caught in many awkward moments over the years, but this had to be in the top … five? Ten? Okay, twenty--at least twenty.

Being stared at, appraised, by an incredibly hot, female, alien warrior as he had his inseam measured in his bedroom was … He was kind of embarrassed to admit it, but even _he_ wasn’t creative enough to have nurtured this as a sexual fantasy. He was starting to have the idea, however, as the minutes ticked by, that this scenario would be revisiting him luridly later that night.

He glanced down at the balding, elderly man crouched at his feet. Okay, he thought. Maybe with few adjustments.

Signore Capelli’s hand slid gracefully up his inner thigh as the old man murmured, “Almost done.”

Tony cringed. Okay--a _lot_ of adjustments.

“So,” Tony finally began, when the _lovely_ woman seated in the chair across the room showed she was able to wait him out. “Sif, right? Is that what I’m supposed to call you? Or … Lady Sif? Your Highness?”

He’d watched the grin ease across her face. She shook her head: “No, no highness here, Tony Stark. Just a friend and warrior-comrade of Thor’s. You may call me Sif.”

Tony looked down to see the tailor chalking lines on the trouser legs. “And you might as well call me Tony. In a few days, we’re going to be practically family--or whatever this agreement turns me into.” He paused. “Hopefully not a toad.”

“Oh, no--Loki hasn’t turned anyone into a toad in centuries.” Her smile at Tony’s response was impish. “He far prefers snakes.”

Tony huffed. “Nice. Well played, madam.” He held an arm out as Signore Capelli measured him once again--measure twice, cut once, he’d been told over (and over, and over). They’d settled on the a deep charcoal gray wool for the suit, single-breasted in style because he wasn’t a mafioso, and the color for the way it would compliment (Tony sighed, resigned) Loki’s signature shade of emerald green. He nodded at the tailor, then returned his attention to Sif. “So … you’ve known Loki a long time, eh?”

Her laugh, her nod was … unsettling, followed as it was by a lazy, “Ooh, yes.” She slowly leaned back in her chair, crossing one leather-clad leg over the other in a smooth movement.

Tony froze. _That_ was a silent message he recognized. “Oh, my God--you’re not--. You haven’t--”

She smirked at his reaction. “We have been around a long time, Tony. Known each other a long time. When Loki and I were younger--” She sobered. “--it was different. We fought. We … played.”

“This reference will go straight over your head, but I have to: _I’m not sure that word means what you think it means._ ”

Sif snorted. “Loki and I, we. Well. We learned many things together.”

Tony shook his head a bit to clear it, felt the pressure on his arm absently. He glanced over at Signore Capelli, who was looking at him with benign tolerance, arms spread a bit in a question. Tony gave himself a cursory look in the full-length mirror propped against the wall. “Yeah,” Tony directed at the man. “That’s … good. Yeah, I think that’s good, thanks. … If you’ll, uh, leave us for a minute--” He gestured between himself and the alien chick who apparently _just confessed she’d boned his future husband._

The older fellow wordlessly let himself out, his “kids today” resigned nod and sigh speaking volumes instead.

“So, you and Loki--uh,” he ticked off on his fingers, “... beast with two backs, the nasty, the horizontal mambo, the--”

“We fucked, yes,” Sif cut in.

Well, okay then.

She continued, “We were young--inexperienced. He wanted to learn, and so did I. So, we spent several seasons visiting each other’s bedchambers in the dark hours, and we … learned.” Her eyes got that faraway look that women got when remembering a particularly satisfying experience, which Tony found strangely encouraging. She continued, “He had a … a fondness for … not sure what you’d call it, but--” And she made a series of complex, acrobatic hand gestures.

Tony blinked. “I know that one! The Reverse Cowgirl?”

Sif snorted. “That’s not what it’s called where I’m from, but it … _sounds_ right? Yes, that was his favorite.” The faraway look slid back into place, but then she irrevocably ruined it: “And, thankfully, the rumors about the Frost Giants--as we now know Loki to be--were not true.”

Tony’s head snapped up, eyes sharp on the woman. “ _What rumors?_ ”

“Oh, all sorts of things that are too ridiculous to say. But the one I heard again and again was that their cocks are--” She took a moment to find the right word, and Tony would swear-- _swear_ \--that it was the longest moment in his life. “--barbed.” (No, that next moment was the longest.)

He gaped, then finally managed. “I’m--I’m sorry, but … Did you say ‘barbed?’” He coughed--okay, it was more of a desperate sputter. “ _Barbed._ ”

“Yes! You know, so they would stay in place … during the act?” Not helpful, Tony thought. Not goddamned helpful at all.

Sif paused, then shrugged. “That was almost universally said about the Jotunn, but probably just to keep the maidens from being too curious about them.” She snorted, a shoulder tossed casually as if Tony’s freshly intense stare were invisible to her. “I certainly never found it to be the case.” She thought for a moment. “Of course--”

“ _WHAT?_ ” he almost shouted over her.

Her attention refocused on him and off her apparently fondly remembered adolescent (athletic? _prickly?_ ) fumblings with the God of Mischief. She took in Tony’s expression and pointedly didn’t offer comfort: “I only saw him in his Aesir form.” A corner of her mouth twisted up--amused, but trying poorly to hide it. “No one save Odin knows what he looks like in his … _natural_ state.”

She looked at Tony, near-deadpan, for a long moment (okay, yes, this could have been _the_ longest), but she finally gave in to a chuckle. “Worry not, Tony. I am sure they are rumors, and why would he ever want to take you in his birth form anyway? After all, the cold of his skin would surely freeze you solid as he was riding you.”

Tony took two steps back and sat down _hard_ on the edge of the bed. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Sif, but you are not invited to my next birthday party.”

She wrinkled her nose at him and winked.

“On the other hand,” he capitulated, “I can sure see why Thor keeps you around.”

Sif threw her arms up, stood quickly from the chair. “Ah, the Odinsons! That reminds me--Loki sent you a gift.” She rummaged around in a leather satchel she had left on Tony’s dresser. She extracted a small marble box and handed it quickly to Tony, who turned it over in his hands. It was about four inches to a side and polished to a shine that enhanced the silvery veins running through the stone. A metal hinge was the only mark of a seam.

He looked back at the woman. “Do I open this now?”

She shrugged. “It’s up to you, I’m sure.”

Next question: “Is it rigged to explode?”

She smiled easily, and despite the barbed-penis thing ( _motherfucker_ ), he really could see why Thor liked her. “No,” she answered. “Odin himself even looked at it briefly before it was given to me, just to ensure it wouldn’t cause offense. I’m told it’s quite … charming.”

Giving in to curiosity, Tony opened the lid. For a moment, nothing happened, and Tony was left holding an empty box. Then--

“What kind of crazy-ass Harry Potter shit is this?” he mused in wonder. (Tony had long known his “wonder” didn’t sound like other people’s.) A figure swirled into being, growing from the bottom of the box--a tiny, an _adorable_ Loki, if Tony had to be honest. He was about five inches tall, not even GI Joe-sized … more like the vintage Obi-Wan Kenobi figure Tony most certainly didn’t have on his desk in his workshop. He wore simple black robes edged in that familiar shade of green.

Tony looked at Sif curiously. “A recording?” He’d seen something like this on The Next Generation--which, again, he most certainly didn’t have in a Blu-Ray boxed set signed by all the actors.

Sif nodded. “Activated by light, I believe. Or sound. I’m not exactly certain.”

Tiny Loki bowed, and Tony could make out the edges of the box through his translucent form. Then, he spoke. “Hello, Tony Stark. I am honored that you have accepted my father’s proposal of an … alliance between us. I look forward to getting to know you better once we are wed. Please accept this token as a symbol of the presence I will have in your life … _always._ ”

Okay, that echoey last bit? _Totally_ Obi-Wan Kenobi, which worked for Tony, uh, kind of. Okay, _more_ than kind of. He looked up in time to see Sif slipping through the door, satchel in hand and gentle expression on her face. He held up a hand just in time for her to nod back and close the door with a firm click.

He looked back down at the Loki-in-the box, who was still animated but now silent.

Or … temporarily silent.

The image flickered, seemed to restart. “By the way, Tony, now that we are alone--” Ooh, that clever fucker, Tony thought. “--I think it’s important to alleviate my future mate’s concerns about any … rumors he might have heard. Rest assured, my love, that the bit about the frigid, blue, spiked giant’s cock?” A beat. “Totally true.”

Tony’s mouth went slack.

Loki smirked. Then, a snort. Then the tiny fucker _bent over in hysterics_ in Tony’s gorgeous, shiny box. “Oh, your face!” he howled. “How I wish I could see it. But I am left to my own barely satisfying imaginings.” He lifted a graceful hand to dab away an invisible tear of mirth. “Anyway, my Avenger. My Iron Man. My _superhero_. I do look forward to it. You will make a most resplendent … bride.” With another chuckle, the figure dispersed into a puff of smoke, which then vanished completely.

“Not. The. Girl,” Tony gritted out, then took the box down to the workshop … just to check it out.

Evil or no, sick-ass prank or not … it was kind of a cool gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, somewhere around the Next Generation Blu-Ray reference, Tony morphed into Ben Wyatt from "Parks and Recreation," and I have no regrets, because I love Ben with the white-hot passion of a thousand suns.
> 
> Meanwhile, Loki should make a (real) appearance in the next chapter!


	5. The Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Since the invention of the kiss, there have only been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure."
> 
> Tony gets the kiss that leaves them all behind. And then someone just ... leaves.

Tony had woken up with sawdust in his mouth and that fluttery sense of abstract panic that meant he was forgetting something. Why, for example, was he in the Malibu house instead of the tower?

His eyes darted around the room until he saw--

The gray suit.

The shoes.

The small velvet boxes on the dresser.

He sagged back on the pillows.

_Wedding day._

Taking a single, bracing breath and setting his body on autopilot, he lurched from the bed and headed for the shower--before one of SHIELD’s best (friend or foe) came to collect him.

***

It was Coulson.

“You’re looking well,” Tony said. “Last I heard, you were down for the count.”

The agent nodded somberly, pursing his lips. “Yeah, nasty flu going around. Good thing you didn’t get it. Might have spoiled the day.”

Tony looked around at the assembled Avengers, SHIELD representatives, and a few carefully screened members of the media. No one looked bored. Tony certainly wasn’t. He asked, “How long ‘til they get here?”

Coulson glanced at his watch. “Should be any time now. Apparently the Asgardian pre-ceremony rituals are fairly convoluted.”

Tony could only hope Loki was being put through half the hell he’d experienced. The waxing alone was--

Natasha stepped up on Tony’s other side. “You hanging in there, Stark?” It was the tone she always used with him, into which he could read both everything and nothing at all.

“I’m _fine_ , Nat, thank you for your convincing portrayal of concern.”

She raised an eyebrow. “My job is simply to make sure you don’t do ‘a runner.’” Air quotes. Nice. She lifted her chin in the direction of Nick Fury, and Tony's eyes followed the cue. Nick was about 30 feet away, talking to a good-looking, civilian-geared younger man and also carefully watching the other attendees. Tony frowned as he eyed the director’s companion; he hadn't remembered plus-one-ing SHIELD. But then, he didn’t actually know everyone on the wide balcony right now anyway.

He turned back to Natasha, belatedly processing her last comment. “Why does everyone think I’m being blackmailed into this? I’m here by choice. Heart willing, and flesh oh-so-weak. As ever.” His smile was a little desperate, but not cold.

Then Steve stepped up next to Natasha. “That’s good, because it’s _my_ job to offer to turn this car toward Mexico if you change your mind. One word, Tony, and we’re outta here--alien mojo or no.”

Steve beamed at his correct and appropriate use of the word “mojo,” which had taken months of use to master. Tony chuckled. “You’re cute, Steve. Why Loki wouldn’t have asked for you, I don’t know.” He rolled his eyes at Steve’s flare of alarm--whether it was the gay factor, the Loki factor, or … yeah, the psychotically-evil-and-he’s-tried-to-kill-us factor, Tony didn’t know.

Speaking of … Tony looked at his wrist twice before realizing there wasn’t a watch on it.

“Hey, could you guys give us a minute?” It was Coulson, and the Avengers drifted away at his request.

“Tony.” The man leaned in, speaking quietly but keeping his eyes facing forward. “We are not unaware of what we’re asking you to do. And while it is critical, in this case, that we have some success here, that we ensure this alliance with Odin, nobody wants you to sacrifice … too much, or do anything that--”

“Oh, Phil, is this the ‘lie back and think of Midgard’ speech? Because I’ll admit, I’ve been waiting.”

Phil gave a little smile, shook his head. “No, I’m just saying that, Asgard definitions of marriage aside, if the thought of certain—obligations doesn’t work for you, you need to say--”

“Ah, so ‘ _don’t_ lie back and think of Midgard.’ Got it.” At Phil’s consternated look, Tony relented. “Phil. Phiiiiilll. .. You have a great name, you know that? Just rolls off the tongue. No, seriously. Phil. I’m not doing anything here--ha! I’m not doing any _one_ here, that I don’t want to do. You’ve seen my file.” Guilty look this time, and Tony returned it with a “mm-hm.” “I’ve done worse than Loki, and I’ve enjoyed it. He's six-foot-three of hot, smart, and crazy—you'd have to be dead not to want to hit that.”

Phil hummed noncommittally.

Then fucking _Clint_ materialized out of nowhere. Again. “Just remember what I said, Tony. You’ve got to stick it in first! He gets you on your back, and you’re never getting off it.”

Tony had a not-entirely-uninvited flash of … something … at that visual, and he considered it briefly, eyes losing focus. Meanwhile, Phil’s face hardened, and he wagged his finger at the younger man. “You. Out.”

“Aw, and miss the dirty talk? You’re cruel, boss.” Clint turned and made his way over to the side of the balcony, where Natasha, Steve, and Bruce were huddled, occasionally glancing Tony’s way.

It was fair to say, all this talk about his … imminent activities with the God of Mischief had Tony in a strange, anticipatory state of mind when the Bifrost finally opened and dropped the Asgard contingent on the balcony. Loki was flanked by Thor, Sif, and a collection of servants and diplomats, one of whom had a large raven perched on his shoulder. This bird, Tony had been told, would serve as Odin’s eyes--heh, _eye_ \--to ensure the ceremony took place.

(Tony had asked Thor with grave concern whether the raven would have to watch … the C-word--the _other_ C-word--and wasn’t really relieved when Thor responded: “That won’t be necessary. The All-Father will simply know when consummation takes place.”)

(Ugh.)

_(Uggghhh.)_

Tony’s eyes focused on Loki, who looked around the balcony with what could only be described as a possessive air, and why shouldn’t it be? He somehow had gotten--was getting--exactly what he wanted. His armor had been modified somewhat--more cloth, less death--and the green, as always, only enhanced his flawless skin, eyes, and--

And Tony was resolutely _not_ hiding behind Coulson’s shoulder, checking out his fiancé.

“Tony Stark!” That was Thor’s bellow. “We would see you.”

Ah, okay. Showtime. Tony emerged from behind Phil--again, not hiding--and stepped across the cement surface to the Asgardian group. Pepper gave him an encouraging gesture from the sidelines. Then, just as Tony got within striking distance, Loki surged forward.

“Greetings, my bride,” he whispered. And before Tony could retort, he was grabbed by shoulder and neck and pulled _in_. A microsecond of terror--”Oh, God, this was the plan all along”--was short-circuited by … possibly the loveliest, hottest, and longest kiss that had ever been bestowed upon him. It was so perfect, Columbo’s voice in his head actually narrated it:

_“Since the invention of the kiss, there have only been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind.”_

But somehow he didn’t think Westley used that much tongue.

The crowd--the entire crowd--gasped and then fell silent. And then, after a beat, Tony heard one heartfelt “ew,” but that was from Clint and was therefore ignored. Loki’s lips on his, that tongue--God, that silver tongue--was working its way, like a bolt of electricity, like a hot, molten-metal vein of pure want, through his chest, gut, and then straight to--

Yeah. This wasn’t going to be a problem. Fuck Clint.

When Loki pulled back, the smug smile was mostly teeth. Which got even bigger when Tony swayed a little toward the god before regaining his balance.

Loki held out an arm. “Shall we commence?”

Tony took the arm, because, fuck it, if he was going to get action like that, he didn’t fucking care _who_ the girl was.

***

Thor conducted the ceremony, which was too precious, but everyone had been A-OK with removing the need for Odin and Frigga to travel to Midgard and, in Tony's summary, "fuck shit up" if anything was out of place. How exactly, he'd pointed out reasonably, do you outfit a guest room for an immortal king and queen? A Bath & Body Works gift basket on the bathroom counter wasn't exactly going to cut it.

So, back to Thor. He beamed proudly at Tony, and even more at his brother. Loki said his prescribed lines, never losing the unsettlingly gleeful look on his face. Tony said his prescribed lines with a character-appropriate smirk and absolutely not hiding slightly shaking hands in his trouser pockets.

They traded rings--again with the silver, but it seemed to fit. Loki’s had small garnets evenly spaced around the surface. Tony’s had … well, you know. Signature color and all that. Loki didn’t let go of Tony’s hands once the rings were in place--just held them tighter. Thor began speaking again--something Tony barely heard, but that included the phrases “‘til human mortality do you part” and “in the eyes of these witnesses and the beady, black, all-seeing orbs of the raven Huginn.”

Finally, it was done, and Loki squeezed Tony’s hands as he leaned in. Tony was ready for this one--no embarrassing loss of balance this time, thanks--and right when Loki’s lips brushed against his (to one loud, dreamy sigh--was that _Natasha?!_ )--

Loki vanished.

Tony’s eyes opened. No one reacted immediately, as if “groom disappearing into thin air” was within the regular spectrum of possibilities at SHIELD-endorsed weddings.

“Oh, no. No way,” Tony heard Clint say. “Just … _screw_ that guy.”

After that, the place erupted in shouts and maybe a few tears.

Oh, yes--poor Pepper.

***

“So, Nick,” Tony began as Fury stepped up next to him on the balcony’s perimeter. “I got jilted at the altar. Does that make me the girl, or just make Loki the asshole?”

“In just this one case, Mr. Stark, I will cede your point and go with B.”

Tony sighed. “Yeah.” He looked back over Fury’s shoulder. “What did Thor say about it?”

“Apparently,” Fury huffed, “the speaking of the vows and Thor’s final pronouncement that you were married was enough to release Odin’s magical restraints on Loki. His … custody, for lack of a better word, was transferred from the All-Father to you.”

Tony chuckled bitterly. “Wow. Odin gave Loki away. Then I guess that answers my question.”

“Yeah.” Fury joined Tony in leaning over the railing, looking out on the ocean below. “I feel like I owe you an apology, though I’m not really sure what for.” Nick thought for a minute, completely missing Tony’s eye roll. “So, this is what we have: Legally, you’re married to Loki, which in theory could hamper your … dissolute lifestyle.” He talked over Tony’s indignant “hey!” and continued, “But we can take care of that, and these idiots--” Here he pointed at the very blonde, brightly-dressed lifestyle reporters. “--won’t know the difference. They have their story--it won’t really matter if your marriage certificate gets lost in the mail.”

Tony shrugged. “I guess. … Do you--does Thor think he’ll come back?" A pause. "To, you know, fuck shit up?”

Fury was silent for an uncomfortably long time, but Tony appreciated that he wasn’t trying to offer a glib answer. Finally, he said, “I don’t know. I don’t think so. He got what he wanted.” Here, he glanced at Tony, and the shorter man felt … assessed. Poorly. “I assume--and it is ‘assume,’ Stark--that he’ll stay away. Choose other places to ‘fuck shit up,’ as you put it. At least for now.”

Tony hummed in acknowledgment. They remained against the railing for another five minutes or so, and then Fury gathered himself together to depart, after most of the other agents.

Right before he stepped away, Tony asked, “Hey, who was that guy you were here with? I didn’t recognize him.”

“Oh,” Nick answered, producing one of the most wicked smirks Tony had ever seen on someone who wasn’t Loki. “ _That_ … is my son, Marcus. He’s in town interviewing at … “

Yeah. Tony didn’t hear the rest of Fury’s explanation, because: _“MOTHERFUCKER!”_

Fury just laughed, a little ruefully, and finished with, “Yeah. No. I’m definitely not apologizing for _that_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next, and final, chapter is tentatively titled "The Marriage," so don't give up hope, readers!
> 
> Special nod to akuma_river, who mentioned that Canon!Nick has a son. Obviously I'm canon-divergent--oh, yes!--but it lent itself to a good punchline!


	6. The Marriage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony _might_ get his wedding night ... after all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since AUing your own stuff is a perk of being a writer, I imported the chaise lounge and lovingly made sandwich from [Five Languages](http://archiveofourown.org/works/564147).

Tony was not moping.

He was _reading_.

Lying in this … whatever this was? This … “chaise lounge” in his living room, clutching his tablet, suit jacket and tie discarded somewhere, and finally catching up on the Steve Jobs bio he’d wanted to read the year before, but never had time to deal with. That afternoon, he’d told Pepper, with her red eyes and wringing hands, that everyone else could deal with the fallout. He was going to take some free time--”take a day, dammit. I’m owed a fucking day”--to look for some fresh inspiration on leadership.

Oh, it was bullshit, of course: He was hoping to find some validation on being a jerk while inspiring devotion in everyone else. He and Jobs had had a conversation or two on the very topic, Steve becoming more circumspect and sullen over his carrot juice and Tony getting louder and more gregarious as he worked his way through the bar.

Tony knew: Being a jerk suited him. And he wanted to keep that going. It was something he wanted to call on in times like this--something to have in his proverbial arsenal. Looking up from time to time in the hours after Loki’d bailed, he inventoried the houseguests--the reporters gone first, Asgard contingent next, then the SHIELD hangers-on, and then Pepper--worries decidedly not assuaged but needed back on the East Coast regardless.

It’s possible, yes, that he wasn’t entirely attentive. He held the reader on the same page for longer and longer periods of time as the noise in the house faded, as the shadows lengthened and sunlight turned golden. It had been … some time, because when he shook his head back to awareness, Bruce was sitting, cross-legged, at the end of the lounge. Glasses sliding down his nose, he was holding--and probably actually reading--his own thick magazine, a journal, pages folded back into a tight curl.

The sun was nearly down.

“Oh, hey,” Tony said, poking Bruce’s knee with his toe. “How long have you been sitting here?”

“About half an hour.” Bruce looked up, smiled gently. Tony realized that, somewhere in there, he had actually moved his feet to make room for Bruce, and he admired both Bruce’s calm stealth and his own complete tune-out.

Tony set the tablet on his lap. “Everyone finally gone?”

“Yep. Thor left early with the Asgardians. Steve, Nat, and Clint flew back with Fury and Coulson.”

“And … you’re still here?” He resolutely tried not to start thinking of travel logistics, because someone _else_ needed to deal with the fallout, goddammit.

Bruce gave him a patient look, waiting for the wheels to stop spinning long enough for Tony to pay attention. “To make sure you’re okay. Not gonna fade away into feeling sorry for yourself, Havisham-style.”

Tony cringed. “Oh, Bruce--Brucie. Don’t … bring the Dickens allusions in here, okay? If anything, I’m going out like The Bride--yellow track suit, big-ass sword, Yakuza.” He wiggled his hand. “Five-point-palm exploding-heart technique.”

Bruce slid into his cheesiest, drippiest tone: “Is _your_ heart exploding, Tony?”

Tony scoffed, prodded Bruce’s knee again. “No. That fucker did me a favor. But I can’t help but think … “

“Oh, God, don’t think.”

“Ha, nice. No, I can’t help but think, Bruuce--I’m married. Marrrrriiied. _And_ I don’t get to have sex. It’s like … It’s the worst of both worlds, Bruce. Married, no sex.”

“I dunno--some people would say _every_ marr--”

“Don’t. Don’t go for the easy joke. You’re above that, Mean Joe.”

Bruce snorted. “Yeah, okay.” His sheepish expression and lopsided, kind smile was why Tony found Bruce the easiest of all the Avengers to … just hang out with, despite the fact that, at a hair-trigger’s notice, Bruce could rip his head off, pull out his spine, and floss with it. Tony resolutely did not let his resulting inner shudder show on his own face.

A little frown crossed Bruce’s brow--he had guessed Tony was thinking something, but (probably) not what it was. Tony prodded him again. “So, why do you think he did this? I mean, if he could have married anyone--”

“I don’t think he wanted to marry anyone.” Bruce looked out the window. “I think he wanted--” He was looking for the nice words, Tony could tell, because that was how Bruce rolled. “I think he wanted to make a scene, obviously--to thumb his nose at us.”

“But why me, Bruce? I mean, I’m married to the fucker now. And vice versa. Fury says he can make it go away, but … Goddamn it. I’m gonna be like fucking Rochester, hiding the crazy lady in the attic forever. Just because I pissed him off the most?”

He got a snort. “Oh, so I can’t do Dickens, but you can namecheck Brontë?” Bruce shook his head, and then sorted carefully through more words. “I don’t know, Tone. But … maybe you should just take it as a compliment. A fucked-up, evil-Norse-god-style compliment. I mean, I pulverized the guy’s spine, but he didn’t offer to put a ring on _my_ finger. Whatever you did … it got his attention.” Tony just grunted.

They sat quietly for a minute, both looking out over the ocean horizon. Finally, Bruce said, “You wanna go get some dinner?”

Tony shook his head, looked back down at the tablet’s reflective surface. “No, I think I’m going to stay here for awhile. Lie here. And, eventually, eat cake.”

Bruce sputtered a surprised laugh. “Really? Cake? Like, the wedding cake.”

“Yeah,” Tony said hopefully. “Is there any of it left?”

“Tony, the whole thing’s left. No one wanted to eat the cake … after.”

“That’s a lie, Bruce. Everyone wanted to eat the cake--they just didn’t want to admit it.” Bruce shrugged, smiling, and Tony pressed forward. “It’s on a table with wheels, right? Like, casters?” He made a twisty motion with his fingers. “Roll that whole thing over here. And bring me a fork.”

“Hm,” Bruce pretended to think. “How about, there’s a giant tray of cold cuts in the fridge, and some of that fancy roll bread with weird seeds on it. And good mustard. I’ll make you a sandwich.” Tony brightened, but Bruce continued: “And leave it in the kitchen, so you get off of this stupid chair.”

“It’s not stupid. It’s a chaise lounge.”

“Not winning your argument for you, Tony.” Bruce stood up and dropped his magazine on the nearby table, where it unrolled in a shuffle of paper. “I’m gonna go get some work done--maybe you’ll be ready to head back tomorrow?”

Tony gave in, nodding.

“Good, okay. See you later.” On his way into the kitchen, he called back over his shoulder, “Eat something. And stop moping!”

“Not moping! Reading!” Tony waved his tablet in the air in the direction where Bruce used to be.

***

Tony went looking for the sandwich a half-hour later. As he passed into the kitchen, a movement in the corner--a something-that-shouldn’t-have-been-there shape--drew his eye. He froze, hand reaching for the sandwich plate on the counter, as he discovered the God of Mischief sitting at the breakfast table.

The cold spiraled down Tony’s spine, following the same, confusing path as the kiss had just--God, just that morning. Seven hours later. Shortest marriage ever-- _that_ would be something for the cover of People.

“You here to kill me?”

The corner of Loki’s mouth drew up, a dry, predatory look. “If I were, you would already have been flayed alive.” He paused. “Or, possibly exsanguinated on that … fainting couch.” Oh. Tony now knew what a “moue of distaste” looked like.

“It’s a chaise lounge.” Okay, _that_ look? Pure scorn. His odds of going through another window might just have notched up a bit. On the other hand … He looked. Loki was … eating cake, the little plastic two-groom topper standing on a napkin close at hand. Tony sighed. If Loki meant to kill him--immediately--he probably wouldn’t have stopped for buttercream and almond filling.

“Hey--I don’t think you earned that.” Tony shot over his shoulder as he picked up the plate and examined the sandwich.

“Oh, believe me, Stark: I earned it.” The fork clinked on the china.

Tony set his plate back down on the bar, then picked up two glasses that were inverted on a towel and headed to the fridge for some water. “What--no ‘my love,’ ‘my superhero’ nonsense anymore?”

“You’re my spouse now. The romance has died.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “You guys. Always with the easy jokes.” He set one of the filled glasses next to Loki, the second at the place across the table, and fetched his own sandwich. “So, I know I’m going to regret asking this, but … you know, you probably could have married anyone, is how I see it. You’re not … bad-looking--” And _that?_ Was a “bitch, please” look. “--and you can tamp down the crazy pretty hard when you want to.” He pulled out the chair and sat, asking the question when they were at eye-level, “So, this was all a joke to you, right?”

Loki offered a thin smile. “Oh, definitely not. Not … all a joke.” He dipped his head, conceding: “Yes, I needed to loosen the All-Father’s bonds on me, and this served quite nicely.” He looked at Tony then. “They made me a puppet, and I no longer wanted to have my strings pulled.”

Tony sighed, looked down at his plate. He was already tired of this conversation and really wanted Loki gone. Again. “Fair enough.” He picked up the sandwich. “Just … shut up and eat, _husband_.”

To Tony’s surprise, Loki capitulated, and they ate in silence. The god eventually picked up the glass and drank from it--cautiously--giving Tony a careful, assessing look as he set it back down. “I must ask you, _husband_ \--” Still that tone. “--why you agreed to the proposal Odin made to your leader. You and your allies expended much effort trying to convince me mortals value free will. Are you that frightened of your superior’s wrath?”

Tony snorted. “Wow--I can’t even begin to tell you all the things that are wrong with that sentence.” He threw his napkin on the table, leaned back in the chair. “I guess I just wanted to know what you would do. I wasn’t … Well. Now I know.” After a last look, Tony pushed away from the table, and grabbed his plate for the sink. “Alright. Great talking to ya. So--we’ll, uh, see you around.” After a moment: “Or not.”

Tony turned--jumped, when Loki was suddenly standing right in front of him. _Fucking teleportation._ The god stared down at him, cold-eyed. “You think I’m leaving.”

Oh, fuck. Tony knew this moment--and it was going one of two ways. Death or-- “I think you already left,” he said, standing his ground, plate awkwardly in hand.

Loki leaned toward him. “Perhaps I like it here.” He took the plate from Tony’s hand, slid it into the counter behind him.

At Loki’s movement, Tony pulled away, just a hair. Testing. Then, pointedly: “Perhaps you got what you wanted, and it’s time to go.”

“But I _haven’t_ gotten everything I wanted.” Loki’s voice was teasing, but dark. Insinuating. “We’re not truly married. Yet.”

Oh, so … not death. _Fuck._ The low note in Loki’s voice, heavy and fluid, had gone straight through him, to stir and heat in a hidden place beneath his belly. Tony looked down at his cock and said, “God, really?!” in a tone of sheer disgust. Of course, he did this in his head, because anything other than that would just have been embarrassing.

“Uh,” Tony offered, out loud this time. “I’m not a cake. You _definitely_ haven’t earned me.”

Loki reached for his left hand, where he found the ring Tony hadn’t taken off (yet. He hadn’t taken it off _yet_ ). He twisted it gently on Tony’s finger, pads of Loki’s own fingertips stroking the skin they brushed. “Mm. Maybe not, but I want you.” A wide smile. “And I have the most certain feeling that it is mutual. Is that really not enough?” Tony maintained his position, and, with a last, very small step, Loki loomed over him. Seven inches--of height--made quite a dizzying difference. Loki’s breath, warm on his face, was all sweetness, vanilla-scented--as innocent as the being himself was not. “Weren’t you already imagining what we would do on our wedding night?”

Tony's fingers twisted up to tangle with Loki's. “Maybe.” Tony decidedly didn’t squeak when Loki then reached arms around him, hands sliding down his back and settling confidently on Tony’s ass with a possessive hold. “You don’t--uhh--you don’t feel prickly. That's--good.” He squirmed in the grip, felt the resulting squeeze. “Oh, you’re handsy,” Tony breathed, admiration settling heavy in his voice. His own hands reached for Loki’s upper arms, solid underneath the black leather and green cloth sheathing them.

Loki, encouraged, backed Tony up to the counter, their bodies pushing aside barstools with a series of loud screeches on the wood floor. Tony shot one arm out behind him, blindly feeling first for the counter and then the nearest stool, which he pulled desperately behind him, _something_ to lean against. The other arm he kept around Loki, holding him close as they shifted.

Loki hummed his approval, maneuvering Tony up against the padded seat. Tony barely worked himself out of the fog of arousal long enough to hear, “You have the tradition of the honeymoon, do you not?” Loki nipped his jawline, where the stubble had started to grow back despite Pepper’s best efforts. He pulled Tony further into his embrace, lifting first one, and then the other of Tony’s legs around his own hips. “How long do those usually last, in your culture?”

“Uh,” Tony gasped stupidly at the resulting--glorious--sensation, pressed between the stool and the wall of muscle and heat. He could hardly make sense of the words. Then: “A week,” he said finally. Then, catching on, “Maybe two.”

Loki pulled him in harder, and, with Tony’s ass in his hands, moved them together with the sweetest, hottest friction. “Then I will stay for a week.” An eyebrow raised. “Maybe two.”

Tony half-forgot what they were talking about, just for a moment. “And,” he gasped, “... after that?”

“After that, we’ll have to … renegotiate.” A particularly vicious thrust briefly silenced him. He finally added: ” ... the terms of our union.”

Tony chuckled as he reached up for Loki’s hair, pulling sharply on it. “Oh, God, I think … I think I just married a traveling salesman.”

A line of confusion settled on Loki’s brow, even as he kept moving them together, a good rhythm that made further debate of questionable value. Tony continued anyway: “A girl--or guy, whatever--in every little town with a train depot and five-and-dime. All of us ignorant of each other.”

Loki’s confusion alleviated--somewhat--and he said, “You think you were a tool. A pawn.” His eyes slid over Tony’s face, his hair, and one hand came up to tweak an earlobe sharply. He chuckled at Tony’s little noise, then, more seriously: “You were. … But--”

Tony pulled Loki’s hand away from his ear, took his wrist and settled it back behind him. “‘But?’”

He got a sharp bite just behind the same ear. Then, a whisper: “You were also a choice. You will not be rid of me so easily as that.”

“Glad to--” He twisted at the next bite, fruitlessly trying to move his tender skin away from the unforgiving teeth. “Glad to know it.”

Loki pulled Tony off the stool, brushing lips against his forehead as Tony’s feet hit the floor. “So, my husband, have you considered what you want to do tonight?”

Tony thought about Clint’s obscene warnings, Coulson’s offered escape hatch … and, hands capturing Loki’s face, he brought the god’s mouth down for another kiss. When their lips parted, he said, simply, “Everything.”

***

In a galaxy far, far away, about an hour later, Odin was lying in bed. At his visible cringe and gasp, Frigga turned to him and touched his arm. “Are you well, my husband?”

The old man’s face smoothed out, and his sigh was one of deep relief. “It is done.” He patted her hand to reassure her. Then, after a moment, “And, might I say, wife, that _that_ must be the _most disturbing_ of all the abilities I have.” He made another, exaggerated face at her knowing smile.

He watched her roll back over to go to sleep. Then, shaking his head to himself, he added, “Just … ew.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, there we go. <3 I suspect the tone went a little sweet at the end--I started to channel [Ice and Dust and Light](http://archiveofourown.org/series/19686) as I was writing it, BUT ... I can't help but make these two like each other. For whatever weird reason. 
> 
> On the other hand: HOLY SHIT, I didn't make it an mpreg! Go, me!
> 
> Thanks for coming along for the ride, and especially all the comments. This was a particularly fun story to write.

**Author's Note:**

> And ... now with [a sequel](http://archiveofourown.org/works/579240)!
> 
> Also: Posted some thoughts on Tumblr about Tony's ["not the girl" issue](http://hannahrhen.tumblr.com/post/36700519227/getting-meta-on-writing-my-frostiron-mutually).
> 
> Thanks for reading, y'all! You can find me publicly hand-wringing over my writing, or fangirling over other people's, on Tumblr: <http://hannahrhen.tumblr.com/>


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